


The ship that sailed

by lheadley



Series: The ship that sailed [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: #slashmadness, Derek's nervous, Fluff, M/M, Scott is an awesome friend to both of them, Slash tourney, Slight character reversal, Stiles needs to stop brooding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-28
Updated: 2013-08-16
Packaged: 2017-12-21 15:31:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/901913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lheadley/pseuds/lheadley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"A sudden noise behind him caused Stiles to let out a slightly hysterical shriek of alarm. Destiel shippers may be coming to take his laptop. To take him. They would stop at nothing to get that leaking, rotten hulk of a ship into first place, when everyone knew that it was the Battleship Merthur that deserved the crown. How could it not? It had magic and mythical creatures just like Supernatural, but it also had British accents. AND the guy who was in Buffy. There really could be no contest in a fair fight. The Destiel fiends must be cheating or something."</p><p> </p><p>Stiles is desperately trying to rally support to defeat the dark force of Destiel shippers, who have threatened to win The Backlot Slash tourney and overcome the righteous Merthur ship. Scott thinks that his best friend may have tipped a little over the edge into crazy - plus for some weird reason he wants Stiles to spend some time hanging out with Derek. Derek is strangely talkative, Stiles is strangely distracted. Can this ship ever set sail?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. All hands on deck

**Author's Note:**

> I am not at all hostile to other shippers - not to Destiel, not to Merthur, not any of them. But I liked the idea of Stiles obsessing about something so much, and getting too carried away with his passion - when his passion could have been better directed elsewhere.
> 
> http://www.thebacklot.com/
> 
> Obviously.

The Ship that Sailed

“Nooooo. No, no, no, no, no, no.” Stiles was full of rightful wrath as he pounded the enter button of his laptop. “It's been at least an hour since I last voted”.

The Backlot’s “Ultimate Slash Madness Tourney” was unsympathetic to his entreaties. The message was uncompromising: “Your vote has already been counted.”

“One an hour, I'm allowed one an hour. Let me on NOW”. Stiles was getting more and more frustrated. Suddenly the timer on his Samsung phone pinged. Stiles grabbed at the laptop, refreshed his screen, and cast his vote.

“Thank you for voting.”

“Yes, thank you, finally.” He quickly reset the timer on his phone, and turned to look at the polling.

“Noooooooooooooooooo.” Stiles’ cry was like a wounded animal – a chipmunk with a thorn in its paw. Destiel still held a commanding lead. Merthur was catching up, and his vote was going to narrow the gap just a little further, but Destiel was still ahead. Stiles immediately opened his Tumblr page, to post a rallying cry to the masses (he had legions of followers. Well, hundreds. Well, more than an hundred). Never in the course of shipper conflict has so much been owed by so many to so few. Now was the time for all good shippers to come to the aid of the party. Ask not what your ship can do for you, ask what you can do for your ship.

A sudden noise behind him caused Stiles to let out a slightly hysterical shriek of alarm. Destiel shippers may be coming to take his laptop. To take him. They would stop at nothing to get that leaking, rotten hulk of a ship into first place, when everyone knew that it was the Battleship Merthur that deserved the crown. How could it not? It had magic and mythical creatures just like Supernatural, but it also had British accents. AND the guy who was in Buffy. There really could be no contest in a fair fight. The Destiel fiends must be cheating or something.

Stiles heart rate slowed somewhat as he turned. It was not renegade Destiel shippers threatening murder and mayhem. It was not even one of Beacon Hills’ ‘creature of the week’ nightmares – not a Kanima, nor a Darach, nor an alpha. Well, actually it was an alpha, but an alpha of the cuddly puppy variety, not the “let me slash your throat out now” variety. Scott stood there, his face contorted into an expression of alarm at the sight before him. Stiles was prepared to concede that he had let things slide a bit in terms of the domestic chores. Three days’ worth of junk food containers littered one side of the desk, because despite his best efforts Stiles had not managed to persuade Scott to dress as Merlin and go for some LARPing (platonic LARPing of course. There was no slash shipping between Scott and Stiles. Just… NO.). The one time they had tried Scott had gotten fed up with Stiles/Arthur ordering him around, and had quit after a mere 24 hours, the lightweight. Discarded clothing piled over the bed – which had not been used for sleeping, because polling was 24/7 in this global environment. Stiles had occasionally napped between voting rounds. Clearly showering was out of the question, and Stiles had periodically caught a glimpse of what might have been pizza topping stuck to his face when the room was dark and his laptop screen was reflecting a faint image back at him. Stiles supposed it might have something to do with the time when he face planted onto the desk in a fit of exhaustion – an horrendous event, which had caused him to be a whole five minutes late before voting again, because he had not heard the alarm.

“Dude.” Scott was using the tone of voice he normally used for dogs that were snarling. “Dude, are you OK?”

“OK? Of course I am not OK. It is 55% to 45% in the final and those Destiel…” Stiles could not think of an expletive that did justice to the horrors of the Destiel fandom “those dastardly Destiel fans have stolen the lead. I know it. They’re cheating.”

“They’re not cheating Stiles.” Scott was still using his dog pacifying voice. “You are just lulling them into a false sense of security. It is all going to be fine.”

Stiles eyed him narrowly. “Have you voted yet?”

“Of course. I voted on the hour every hour. You know I wouldn’t let you down buddy. But I’m staging an intervention now.” Scott’s voice had become all alpha pitched and stern. “This has got to stop. You’re losing it. When was the last time you left the house?”

Stiles stared at Scott in amazement. How did Scott imagine, even for a moment, that he could leave the house? This was not the time for frivolities like fresh air and sunshine.

“You know your dad was spotted eating donuts yesterday, right? Allison and I saw him in the patrol car, eating a jelly donut. A sugared, jelly donut. And it looked like it was his second sugared, jelly donut”. 

Stiles gasped afresh at each adjective of depravity. You remove the eye of authority for a mere moment - or three days, whatever, semantics – and his own father went and cheated on him. There would be words. Not now, obviously, but when the final polls had closed. There would be words, some multi-syllabled, and possibly finger pointing. Reproachful looks would be made. The full wrath of Stiles Stilinski would descend. 

Another, darker thought struck him. He gasped twice at the betrayal it suggested.

“You were out with Allison? You must have missed a voting slot. Scott, how could you? After all we have been through together. I ask you one little thing – 24 times a day for a week you have to go on line to vote, that is it.”

“Dude.” The alpha tone was there. “You can vote from your Samsung. I’ve been voting.”

Stiles was temporarily pacified, and huffed out a sigh of relief before turning back to the poll.

“Look at it. I mean, just look at it. We have to do something. Use your former co captain status to get the lacrosse team behind Merthur. The alternative is just too hideous to contemplate.”

Scott sighed at him. This was a conversation that had been repeated many times. “Stiles, I can’t force people to vote against their conscience. It wouldn’t be right. You know half the team ship Johnlock. And Danny hasn’t been seen since Merthur defeated Aragorn/Legolas in the last round. Though I did persuade him not to be petty and vote for Destiel in the final out of revenge.”

Stiles muttered darkly under his breath, before giving a cry of anger and then typing furiously on his Samsung. “It’s Jackson. He is taunting us on Twitter. Of course a douchebag like that would ship Destiel. He shouldn’t be allowed to vote at all anyway. He…”

Stiles squawked with indignation as Scott tweaked the Samsung from his grasp with one hand, while closing his laptop with the other hand. “Dude, what the hell are you doing? Are you mad? This is the critical juncture in the poll.”

“Stiles, you need to stop. You need a break. Take time out and you will get a fresh perspective on things, and come back with an even better campaign strategy. In the meantime, you need to get out, do something completely different.” Scott overrode Stiles’ inarticulate sound of protest and horror. “Obviously you can still vote, just from your phone. I’ll set it to silent, and the timer will vibrate when it is time to vote.” 

“Scott, no, I need another ten minutes. Twenty tops. That is all. Then I can…”

“No, Stiles, the slash madness has to stop. You need to get a fresh perspective on things. Get outside, take a break, unwind. Have you had your Adderall today?” 

Stiles nodded impatiently.

“Right, grab a shower, clean yourself up and get ready to go out.”

Stiles thought through some things. Perhaps he had become too narrow in his perspective. Getting out, some space to clear his head, he could come back with an new strategy to send Destiel to the Purgatory from whence it came. A sudden wave of affection for Scott flooded over him. Scott always knew this sort of thing, how to get Stiles back on track. He got out of his chair and pulled Scott into a tight hug.

“You’re right bro. I need to get some breathing room. You always know.”

Scott had seemed to tense as Stiles had pulled him in for a hug, and somewhat belatedly Stiles remembered that there may be a bit of pizza topping on his face. Certainly something that looked like a mushroom – which would mean a two day old mushroom, because he had not had mushroom as a topping for two days – had detached itself from his face and seemingly transferred itself to Scott’s during the hug. It slowly peeled away from Scott’s cheek, before falling languidly to the floor. They both stared at it for a moment in silent contemplation, Scott with a slightly nauseated expression, Stiles with a thoughtful expression as he considered whether he could eat it without appearing too gross. He came down against, though regretfully. He was feeling hungry now the adrenalin rush of the last vote was fading from his system. 

“So where are we going Scotty?”. Stiles rather hoped it would involve food.

“Ah.” Scott looked a little shifty, which always seemed incongruous. Scott’s face was designed for puppy dog innocence, not furtive shiftiness. “I can’t go right now, but I will totally hang with you tomorrow. But Deaton has called me in for an extra shift tonight. Helping with a surgery.”

“So what was all this about?” Stiles started to reach for his laptop.

“No, bro, you need a break. And I thought, maybe, you and Derek should hang for a while.”

“Derek? Mr. Grumpy Paws himself? In what possible AU would I want to voluntarily spend free time with Derek? No one in their right mind would tag the two of us in the same fic, far less have us spending an evening hanging out. And he’s never going to want to hang with me.”

Scott gave Stiles a determined look. “Stiles. You shouldn’t go assuming the worst about people all the time. I had coffee with Derek yesterday, and I think he would be up for hanging with you. I think…” Scott paused, his face assuming a soppy expression of slight distress “I think he gets lonely. He could really do with a friend. And you are the most awesome friend in the world, there is no one like you, and I know I could never manage to be an alpha without you, so I thought if you spent some time with him…”

Stiles pulled his face into an expression of resistance. “I am not giving up vital polling time to hang out with Derek Hale. I’m sorry Scott, I love you and all, but that is just…”

“I’ll be Merlin half a day a week for a month.”

“Done.”

Scott looked relieved, and a little apprehensive at the same time. “But I am not doing your laundry for you. Just LARPing Merlin. I draw the line at laundry.”

“Fair enough.” With a month of LARPing ahead, Stiles knew Scott would become hooked. How couldn’t he become hooked? It was going to be epic.

“But if you are going out into the real world, you need to clean yourself up. Go take a shower. Because, and I mean this with all the love in the world bro, you smell. You need to be a bit more Arthurian in your appearance”

“OK, but you need to draw me my bath, Merlin.” 

Scott looked at him silently.

“OK, not in the mood right now. I get it.” Stiles disappeared off in the direction of his bathroom, confident that Scott would love LARPing if he would just give it a proper trial.


	2. Hoist the mainsail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles abandoned his musing on how to get Merthur going viral on YouTube. “Why are you nervous?”
> 
> Derek glanced at him and gave a little smile before turning back to look at the road. “Are you kidding me? Do you know how intimidating you can be? You have a wisecrack for every occasion. I am scared if I say anything I will be beaten over the head with your sarcasm. It is terrifying. But Scott said I should not let that worry me, and I should try and say things and stop brooding all the time. And I used to be good with words, but then… then things happened and… and I stopped.”

Stiles took his time in the shower. Two day old pizza topping was surprisingly hard to remove when embedded in his new longer hair, and three days hunched over a lap top and phone had given him some very tense muscles across the back of his shoulders.

He emerged, hair fluffy from drying, towel loose around his waist, to overhear Scott talking to someone in his room.

“Lydia, that is the best I can do. I can’t tell you how little there is that I am working with here….”

Stiles paused in momentary horror at the idea that Lydia Martin might be in his room, before logic prevailed and he realised that Scott must be talking to her on the phone. Though quite why Scott was talking to her on the phone was another matter. He pushed through the door, to find Scott putting away his phone while holding a pair of jeans in one hand with an expression of uncertainty on his face.

“Scott, what the hell are you up to? And why were you talking to Lydia?”

Scott flushed red, and he glanced nervously around the room to avoid Stiles’ penetrating gaze, before his eyes lit on Stiles’ favourite poster of Arthur and Merlin. The flush faded away.

“I was just laying out some clothes, Arthur.”

Stiles heart gave a quick leap. Finally Scott was embracing his inner Merlin. “Merlin, you really are an idiot. Come on then, what have you got?”

Scott indicated a space he had cleared on the bed. A Ben Sherman T shirt that Stiles knew tended towards the figure hugging, along with the jeans. And Scott seemed to have gone so far as to select a pair of black boxer briefs as well. Stiles thought that might be going a bit far, but he didn’t want to dampen Scott’s new found enthusiasm.

“You don’t expect me to dress you, do you?” Scott was suddenly looking apprehensive.

Stiles looked at him, an expression full of meaningful expectation.

“I mean, my Liege.”

“No, I’ll dress myself thank you.” Stiles threw his towel in Scott’s general direction, and pulled on the boxers, then the jeans and T shirt. Not that he would rush to admit it but it did feel good to change out of the clothes he had been wearing since polling began.

“So am I supposed to call Derek, or what?”

“Ummm. I think he might be coming here to pick you up.” Scott glanced at his phone. “In about ten minutes or so.” 

Stiles looked up from tying his laces. “He’s coming here?”

“Actually, I think he might be here now. That‘s his car pulling up.” Stiles looked at him meaningfully again.

“I mean, I think I hear his steed outside, my Liege.”

“You need to work on the dialogue, Scotty boy. And you need to start thinking about how to dress the part too.” Stiles’ attempt to launch into a long lecture on the necessity of getting the costume right was cut off by Scott squirting a dose of Zegna cologne straight into his face. After a moment or two of spluttering Stiles emerged to glower at Scott.

“What the hell?”

“Sorry Arthur”. Scott was grinning, and looked nothing like an apologetic werewolf should look. In fact he was starting to look like he might be enjoying the whole LARPing thing too much. Stiles was beginning to realise that the downside of Merthur role play was that Scott would have ample opportunity to behave in a clumsy and generally unhelpful manner. He sighed, just as the doorbell rang.

“Polish my boots. And clean my armour. And tidy my quarters.” Stiles was barking orders out in an very Arthurian manner. “You owe me big for this.”

 

Stiles tripped his way downstairs, with Scott following behind. Derek was standing outside the front door, but a different looking Derek to the one Stiles was used to seeing. He was clean shaven for one thing – Stiles could barely remember a time when he had seen Derek clean shaven; it made him look a lot younger. And he was wearing a shirt which appeared to be a pale blue. Not that radical as far as colours went, but something beyond the ordinary black, black and bloodstained, or white and not likely to last five minutes before becoming bloodstained that constituted the normal spectrum of colour in Derek’s wardrobe. It seemed to bring out his eyes, Stiles noted in passing.

“Hi Stiles”. Derek was mumbling a bit, alternating his glance between looking at Stiles’ chin, and looking at his own feet. “You look very nice.” 

Stiles could see the tips of Derek’s ears flushing red, and he seemed to be focusing his attention exclusively on his own feet now. 

“Ummm.” Stiles was at a loss to respond to this. Derek complimenting anyone was almost unheard of. For him to be complimenting Stiles was completely novel. “Thanks?” It was a question.

“I brought you something.” Derek was still muttering and staring at his feet – Stiles was finding it a bit odd to be having a conversation with the two red tips of Derek’s ears - but then Derek pulled a hand out from behind his back and handed Stiles a paper bag while seemingly attempting the impossible feat of blushing even more. Stiles stopped worrying about the colour of Derek’s ears as his attention zeroed in on the outstretched gift. Everything from the logo on the bag, to the slight dark staining of grease on the paper, to the smell screamed out “curly fries” - a scream that found an echoing cry of pleasure from Stiles’ stomach. “Scott said you had not been eating.”

“Dude, thanks.” Stiles was truly appreciative, and opened the bag at once. Nothing could stand between him and curly fries, though that frankly weird remark about Scott talking about his eating habits required further investigation at some point. But not this point. This point was all about the potato-y goodness. Or maybe not ‘goodness’ as such, but much needed carbohydrates for the marathon sessions of Slash Tourney voting that lay ahead. “God, do I need these.”

Derek had lifted his head a little and seemed to be smiling a little half smile. Out of the corner of his eye Stiles could have sworn he saw Scott give a thumbs up in their general direction. 

“So, shall we go?” Derek was back to looking at Stiles’ chin again, and seemed to be flushing a little less. His ears had gone down to a dusky pink colour. 

Stiles was a little nonplussed at the automatic assumption that they were going somewhere, but with a mouth of curly fries he was not going to argue. He did not need to be at home for the next couple of hours as long as he could vote in the Tourney using his phone. A sudden cold fear gripped his heart and he began frantically checking his pockets for his Samsung with one hand. The other hand was clearly clutching the bag of curly fries and could not possibly be put to any other use.

“Bro, relax will you. It’s here.” Scott stood holding out the phone to him. “The timer is set to vibrate, and you know how to vote over the phone. Everything’s cool. Try and relax. Enjoy yourself.” Scott looked over to Derek, and the soppy expression was back. “Have fun, both of you. You need a break.” 

 

Sitting in the passenger seat of the Camaro, sated with curly fries (albeit temporarily sated, for one could never get too many curly fries), Stiles gave free rein to his imagination and he began to brood on the dastardly forces of Destiel shippers. He needed to rally support, and rally it strongly. As he sat there, eyebrows pulled together and mouth scrunched up in concentration, he became aware of some kind of background noise. Not the purring of the car engine, but an excited chatter.

“…so I thought we could see the new Man of Steel thing. I mean, I know that you are more a Batman kind of a guy, but there aren’t any Batman movies showing at the moment, although there might be a Batman in the Man of Steel sequel, though I can’t think who they might cast as Batman. I mean that is a really tough role to cast, because it is so important a superhero – a really powerful role, and really difficult to cast. They would have to get just the right sort of an actor to play Batman, and I don’t know who would be right for that role. But I thought you might like having Henry Cavill as the lead in the movie. Scott said you tended to go for that sort of look, all muscled and so on. It is not really my thing, I prefer a more slim and toned physique, though Henry Cavill was good in The Immortals. But I preferred the guy playing Aries in that – wiry and toned and…and I’m talking too much. Tell me if I’m talking too much. I’m just nervous….”

Stiles abandoned his musing on how to get Merthur going viral on YouTube. “Why are you nervous?”

Derek glanced at him and gave a little smile before turning back to look at the road. “Are you kidding me? Do you know how intimidating you can be? You have a wisecrack for every occasion. I am scared if I say anything I will be beaten over the head with your sarcasm. It is terrifying. But Scott said I should not let that worry me, and I should try and say things and stop brooding all the time. And I used to be good with words, but then… then things happened and… and I stopped.”

Derek trailed into a subdued silence. He glanced across at Stiles, who was sitting there with his face still in the drawn expression of deep thought. Derek gave a sad little huff of breath and looked straight ahead again, seeming to shrink in on himself a little. “I’m sorry, I’ll be quiet.” His eyebrows seemed to draw together as if they were trying to merge into a single full stop, underscoring his silence.

“No, its fine. “ Stiles was a bit bemused by Derek’s transformation into a babbling loon. But his mind was not really open for wide ranging conversation at the moment. There was only one topic that mattered, could only be one topic that mattered. “So, who do you ship?”

Derek seemed to expand again. “Oh, right. You are like the lead Merthur shipper. Scott warned, I mean Scott told me about that. I get Merthur, I can see how two people like that could be drawn together in a really deep relationship, even though they have different mentalities and are physically so different, but they keep saving each other and they obviously care for each other. I think it is an awesome ship. But my number one ship” - Stiles drew in a startled breath at the implication that Merthur was not Derek’s number one ship – “my number one ship was Jack and Pacey from Dawson’s Creek.”

Stiles choked out a sound of despair. “Jack and Pacey?”

“I know, right? They never even got through the seeding round. But I remember watching reruns of Dawson’s Creek when I was in High School, and the impact of Jack coming out was huge. I mean, really huge. It was the first time I thought that being different might be OK, and I might be able to be accepted for being different. Different twice over. And that episode where he reads his poem, and then admits his sexuality to himself, and…”

Derek’s voice had wobbled a bit and he stopped for a moment.

“It meant a lot to me, that’s all. I guess I feel nostalgic for back then, before...”

Stiles looked across, a little uncertain as to how to respond. 

“I never really watched Dawson’s Creek, I guess. Before my time. But I see how something like that might be a powerful force to ship.”

Derek had flinched a bit at the “before my time”, but then seemed to breathe out and relax again. He half glanced at Stiles with a small half smile.

“So the Man of Steel is OK?”

“Sure. I mean, I do go for the muscled sort of dude.”

Derek’s half smile doubled in size.


	3. Full ahead, Captain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That thought pulled Stiles up abruptly. Nice was not something he normally associated with Derek Hale. Grouchy, absolutely. Taciturn, of course. Seemingly intent on glowering Stiles to death with a slight top dressing of wall slamming, no question. But nice… this was something new.

Stiles had really enjoyed the film. After all the trauma of the championship round, not to mention the taunting by Jackson, it had been good to get out. Derek had been surprisingly attentive too - he had not only paid for the tickets, but also a huge bucket of popcorn. Stiles had protested, but feebly – anyone who owned a Camaro and about forty six black leather jackets clearly had the cash to be able to spend from time to time.

Stile had voted three times during the evening, when his phone vibrated, but he was surprised by how he was able to switch of from the whole thing. Derek had been remarkably chatty outside the cinema, talking about inconsequential things, asking about Stiles’ life in a way that forced Stiles to interact. It had, Stiles thought, all been rather… nice.

That thought pulled Stiles up abruptly. Nice was not something he normally associated with Derek Hale. Grouchy, absolutely. Taciturn, of course. Seemingly intent on glowering Stiles to death with a slight top dressing of wall slamming, no question. But nice… this was something new. The shock of the concept forced Stiles into silence, as he pondered on the implications. Beside him, Derek was seemingly chatting to him about the film, as he pointed the Camaro in the direction of Stiles’ house. 

“I hope you liked it. I wasn’t sure if you would like it but Scott said you probably would, and I thought it was a pretty good film, but I wanted to pick something you would enjoy, because I wanted you to enjoy the evening, so…”

Stiles became aware he was expected to answer. Derek was glancing at him sporadically as he drove.

"Yeah, it was great. A really good choice, Derek.”

Derek beamed suddenly. There was a blinding flash of white teeth in Stiles’ general direction, and the Derek turned to look at the road. 

“Good. I’m glad. I don’t always make the right decision.”

Stiles manfully held in the snort of derision at that. The list of wrong decisions Derek had made over the past year of knowing him could fill three pages of a Word document in a small font. And, indeed, did fill three pages of a Word document in a small font; a Word document locked away deep in the inner recesses of his laptop, with an emergency back-up USB to be handed to Scott “in the event of my death, disappearance for more than three days, or going completely insane (NB Last point to be certified by three doctors none of whom to be Ms Morrell).”

“No, it was good. I really enjoyed tonight”.

Derek seemed weirdly happy. He was staring out of the windshield, smiling away to himself. Stiles’ mind, never easy to keep in check at the best of times, started to ponder on what could explain this sudden change in character. He lapsed into a somewhat introspective silence, as Derek parked the Camaro just in front of Stiles’ house.

It took Stiles a moment to disentangle himself from the seatbelt. Clearly a Camaro’s seatbelts were constructed differently from those on a Jeep. There must be, like, some kind of secret code or werewolf strength required. When he finally defeated the whole “press down hard on the button” concept, Stiles looked up to see Derek standing by his door, holding it open. And still smiling.

“So, dude” Stiles manoeuvred himself out from the seat “thanks, again. It was a great evening. We should do it again.” 

“Really?” Derek’s face seemed almost to be lighting up the gathering darkness of the late evening. “I’d like that. I had a really good time, and if you’d be up for doing something again I’ll give you a call or something…” Derek breathed in deeply and rested his hand on Stiles’ shoulder, gently. “I liked spending time with you.”

Stiles was a little confused by that, and very much aware of the rather intimate feeling of Derek touching his shoulder – he could swear that Derek had moved his thumb back and forth just a little, stroking the fitted fabric of his T shirt. He grinned back at Derek.

“I liked hanging with you too, Derek. You’re fun when you aren’t being such a Sourwolf.”

Derek breathed in again, and said “Well, goodnight Stiles…”. Then, a little irresolutely he leant in and planted a kiss on Stiles’ cheek. He kept his face next to Stiles’ for a moment afterwards, before pulling back to look at him.

Stiles was not sure what his face was showing. Shock probably. This was not what he had expected. Dreamed of, on occasion, yes. Expected, no. He was momentarily lost for words.

Derek’s expression had changed from apprehension to – well to something invisible. He was doing the ‘looking at his shoes’ thing again and all Stiles could see was the tips of his ears, flushed red.

“I’m sorry…” Derek was mumbling. “I shouldn’t have… I’ve messed things up. I don’t deserve to have nice…”. Without looking up he turned and ran over the driver’s side of the car. Moments later he was driving off down the street.

Stiles stood, contemplating the retreating Camaro with his mouth hung slightly open. He reached up to touch the spot on his cheek where Derek had kissed him. A warm glow was slowly spreading through him. As the car turned the corner Stiles remembered how to operate his vocal chords.

“No, stop, wait, Derek…”

Too late.

 

 

Stiles stood for several moments, staring at the place where the tail lights of the Camaro had disappeared around the corner. He was uncertain what to do. Derek Hale, leading contender for the title of grumpiest werewolf on the western seaboard, had kissed him. And had seemed to feel something for him. Stiles was not exactly sure what Derek was feeling – he had been hampered by being unable to see Derek’s eyebrows after the kiss. Derek’s eyebrows always seemed to signal in semaphore on behalf of his soul. After standing irresolutely for a while longer, hand still to his cheek where Derek’s lips had pressed against it, Stiles suddenly had inspiration. 

Scott would know what to do.

This was not a sentence that often came to the forefront of Stiles’ mind, but on this occasion, Scott was the man. Or teen. Or wolf. Or wolf teen. Or whatever. The point is Scott understood Derek (sort of), and he understood werewolf stuff on a practical level, and he knew about relationships. A single, currently failed relationship to date of course, unless one counted Isaac, but still. The point was he knew more than Stiles did.

Stiles ran to the house, charged up to his room, grabbed the keys to his Jeep, and was turning the ignition in a matter of moments. A silent prayer to the Saint Frances of Rome was answered (the patron saint of car starting, loosely interpreted, but in Stiles’ view so frequent a correspondent in his life as to merit a celestial speed dial). The Jeep burst into life. 

It took only five minutes to get to Scott’s house. Stiles could remember when it was Scott’s grandma’s house, and he and Scott had had to ask special permission to ride over on their bikes with kiddie wheels. That was before things had changed. First his mom. Then Scott’s dad. Then the bite. And now something else was going to change, or it was if Scott could help him.

 

It took Stiles a moment to find the key to Scott’s front door – his hands were shaking in his agitation. He had a sense that his news was going to explode out of him if he did not talk to Scott soon. Habit took him straight to Scott’s room, but in the doorway he skidded to a sudden halt. Sitting on the bed was Scott, with an arm over Derek’s shoulders. Derek was looking down in a despondent fashion – seriously, had the guy cricked his neck or something? – and was muttering 

“he looked so horrified, I messed it up and…”

Scott was patting Derek on the back, but looked up suddenly at Stiles’ appearance. 

“Umm. Right. I’m going to… call Allison. Or Isaac. Or something.”

Exit Scott.

Derek had looked startled when Scott had suddenly stood up, but then caught sight of Stiles in the doorway. His face flushed beneath his stubble.

“Stiles, I’m sorry. I took things too fast. I get that you would not want anything like that with me, and if you can overlook it perhaps we could try being friends…”

It took Stiles ten seconds to cross the room. It would have taken less time but Scott, the slob, had left a couple of T shirts on the floor in exactly the spot that they would trip a romantically supercharged best friend, if that romantically supercharged best friend were trying to get to the love of his life as quickly as possible.

“Derek.” Stiles’ tone was breathy, he was almost panting. “Stop talking.”

With a movement that stressed enthusiasm rather than coordination Stiles grabbed Derek’s face (which had been drifting to look down again), and leaned in for a kiss. Their noses clashed with eye watering force, causing Stiles to pull back quickly.

“Ow, ow, sorry that was me, I…” 

He got a grip on himself and leant in again. As their lips touched a small jolt of electricity shot through Stiles, and he pulled himself in closer. Mouth just slightly parted he caught at Derek’s top lip, breathing out softly in a barely suppressed gasp of pleasure.

Derek slowly leaned back onto the bed, pulling Stiles with him. Stiles pushed himself forwards with a slightly desperate passion, not wanting to break contact for a moment. Suddenly he toppled forwards onto Derek, causing a quite exhalation of breath from the werewolf. 

Stiles could feel himself flushing, but Derek did not seem to mind this display of gracelessness. Derek’s hands were at his back, pushing Stiles closer into his body. The fall had broken their kiss, but now Derek was chasing little pecks of affection along Stiles’ neck, the gentle rasp of stubble against Stiles jawline. Stiles contented himself with pulling Derek’s torso up towards his, and murmuring incoherently. It was about all he felt up to.

Suddenly Derek froze. They both became aware of a hardness between them, an insistent, pulsing hardness that was demanding immediate attention.

Derek looked up at Stiles’ face.

“Your Samsung. Go on, go and vote.”

Stiles twitched momentarily, as if about to reach for his phone as a reflex.

“No, I… I have another ship I want to work on. Diles beats Merthur every time.”

Derek grinned broadly at him. 

“That has to be the corniest thing ever said in the history of relationships. And Diles? It doesn’t feel like a Diles – I think this is Stere…”

Stiles cut him off.

“It’s Diles. Call us Diles.” 

Stiles leant back in to continue what the phone’s time had interrupted. He could delay voting for fifteen minutes. Or thereabouts.


End file.
